


Batman

by TryingToMystrade (TryingToScribble)



Series: #MystradeStoryTime and other Twitter nonsense [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Mycroft, Blood, Kidnapping, M/M, Mycroft To The Rescue, Mystrade Story Time, idiot baddies, torture not explicit, violent imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 11:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19294714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TryingToScribble/pseuds/TryingToMystrade
Summary: Greg has been kidnapped. He's late for dinner. I don't think Mycroft minds playing superhero.Originally posted as a #MystradeStoryTime on Twitter @trying2scribble





	Batman

Greg breathes slowly, attempting to keep calm.

 

He’s just faded back into consciousness with an ache in his neck and a bag over his head. He’s tied to a chair, wrists and ankles securely fastened to the arms and legs. Nothing seems to be damaged that he can tell, so he just breathes and waits.

 

He doesn’t remember being taken or even being attacked but the pain in his neck feels familiar. He was probably caught unawares from behind and stabbed with a sedative. Not any common criminal, then.

 

It should be alarming that his first thoughts aren’t in panic, but in jest; a joke for himself about how Mycroft is going to kill him for being late to dinner.

 

Greg is saved from laughing out loud when the bag is ripped from his head. It takes a moment for his vision to focus since it isn’t as light as he expected without the canvas over his eyes. He can see two brutes in front of him and a third, less brutish, more lanky man stood behind them. They seem to be alone in an abandoned warehouse after dark. Greg is admittedly a little disappointed by the cliche.

 

The lanky man is clearly supposed to be the big bad guy despite his appearance - because of his appearance. He’s wearing a dark blue t-shirt, just like his brutes, but he’s wearing a light, grey suit jacket over it to set him apart.

 

“Good evening, Mr. Holmes.” The big bad says in a mock friendly tone.

 

Greg tenses. No one is supposed to know about that.

 

He thought maybe the murderer from his case had caught him instead of the other way around in a bit of bad luck, but if this guy knows he’s married to Mycroft then the shit is about to hit the fan in the most spectacular way possible.

 

Greg isn’t going to fall into any conversational trap this man is about to set for him, though. Mycroft and his secrets are safe with him. No one is using him against his husband. No one.

 

Anyway, there is a reason that he is still Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade on all official documentation except that one secret one for a reason.

 

“Who’s Mr. Holmes?” He asks, playing at confused.

 

The lanky man tuts. He reaches into his inside jacket pocket and pulls out a butterfly knife. “You are not a stupid man, Mr. Holmes. Don’t act like one and I won’t treat you like one.” He tosses the knife between his hands in obvious warning.

 

Greg nods. No, he isn’t stupid. He’s not going to piss off an unknown threat whose intention is to use him to get to Mycroft.

 

He eyes the lanky man for a moment. Maybe he can set his own trap to find out what this guy wants.

 

“How do you know?” Greg asks cautiously, still watching the smooth movements of the knife.

 

“I know everything about you, Mr. Holmes. How you work with your little team. How they operate in the shadows to capture those who don’t follow your pathetic rules.”

 

_ Oh, great. Another dramatic one.  _ Greg thinks and tries not to roll his eyes.  _ They want Mycroft but get carried away with wanting my head for being a copper. _

 

“We don’t work in the shadows. We follow the law and arrest those who break it.”

 

The man laughs but it’s full of hatred. “Your lies fool no one, Mycroft Holmes.”

 

Oh no. Greg’s eyes go wide. He misunderstood. This man doesn’t think that he’s married to Mycroft. He thinks he  _ is  _ Mycroft. How can anyone possibly be so wrong? He isn’t some genius criminal mind, he’s an idiot.

 

“You do not follow the law. You think you are above the law. You are no different from the rest of us!” The idiot carries on his bad guy speech but stops when he notices that Greg is laughing at him. He scowls and waves a hand to a brute and Greg gets a fist to the stomach. Greg’s laugh becomes a wheezing breath and he curls into the pain as much as he can under the restraints.

 

What’s he supposed to do now? Pretend to be Mycroft?

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tries. He doesn’t know what else to say and he doesn’t want this idiot thinking clearly enough to realise his huge mistake.

 

The man is suddenly in his face with the knife cutting at the skin beneath his chin and scraping back to his throat in warning.

 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. The great Mycroft Holmes isn’t as unknown and ghostlike as he thinks he is.”

 

“I wouldn’t say that.” A new voice echoes about the dark room and Greg smirks despite the knife now cutting into him. The idiot is distracted anyway and the brutes can’t seem to think for themselves without orders.

 

“Who’s there?” The idiot calls out and waves brutes one and two to go in search. They don’t get very far before they drop to the ground, yelling and scrabbling about. Their knees were targeted rather than their heads. Greg is surprised Mycroft didn’t order them dead for daring to touch him. They probably have some sort of information.

 

A shadow steps into the light to Greg’s left. A tall man in a black suit leans over his umbrella. Mycroft’s gaze travels over Greg’s form before piercing into the man holding the knife. He doesn’t answer the question.

 

The idiot is shaking but that only means trouble for Greg who is sure there is blood dripping down his neck. “Who are you? What do you want?” He asks again, clearly not getting the picture.

 

Mycroft tilts his head to the side. His expression is unreadable in a way that he knows unsettles anyone who doesn’t know him. “Charlie Andrew Fletcher. Father: James Fletcher. Mother: Josephine Fletcher, née Riley. Brother: Nathan James Fletcher.” Mycroft begins to list and the idiot’s jaw drops almost comically. “Born 12th September 1976 in Hampshire, England. Dropped out of Grayshott High School in 1991 to follow in your father’s footsteps of drug dealing and, later, child trafficking.” As Mycroft speaks, he steps towards the idiot - Charlie. When he is no more than three feet away from Charlie he stops and tilts his head again. “Do you know the answer to your question yet or must I complete your life story?”

 

Greg watches the exchange with bated breath. He is relieved that Mycroft is here but he’s growing concerned with how close he’s stepping to a fool with a knife. He’s also becoming very suspicious of the fact that he can’t hear anything that sounds like backup.

 

The knife is still at his throat, though, and Charlie is flitting his gaze between the two of them so he doesn’t move. He just watches.

 

“You’re not. You can’t be.” Charlie chokes on his disbelief. He looks to Greg and back again. “You’re not Holmes. I’ve got Holmes right here.”

 

Greg takes a deep breath in through his nose as he feels the knife at his throat cut a little further.

 

Mycroft sighs and gives Charlie a disappointed look that a parent might give their child for trying to put a square block through a circular hole. “Why, Mr. Fletcher, you do indeed have Mr. Holmes. You just have the wrong one.” Mycroft takes another step. His next words are spoken with furious conviction as he stares into Charlie’s wild eyes. “My name is Mycroft Holmes and I want my husband.”

 

As soon as the words are said, everything happens at once.

 

Greg can’t help but shout and push himself forward as Charlie suddenly swings the knife out towards Mycroft. Mycroft steps back easily, and with a crack of his umbrella against Charlie’s wrist and a twisting motion of his whole body, he has Charlie pinned to the floor. Greg’s chair tips over causing him to land awkwardly on one knee and then fall onto his shoulder before hitting his head on the concrete floor. He gasps out in pain. Mycroft knocks Charlie unconscious, drops his umbrella, and calls out to Greg as he rushes to his side.

 

“Gregory!” Mycroft lifts the chair back to standing with surprising strength. He uses Charlie’s knife to free Greg from his ties. “Darling, are you hurt?” He throws the knife to the side and cups Greg’s face with both hands.

 

Greg grins up at him despite the ache in his knee and the sharp sting at his neck. “You came here alone, didn’t you?” He asks but he knows the answer. “You went all badass when your husband didn’t show up for dinner and scoured the city in your best ‘don’t fuck with Mycroft Holmes’ suit.”

 

Mycroft ignores his teasing and instead checks over his husband. “You need to go to the hospital.”

 

“I don’t need the hospital.” Greg argues and lifts his hands to swat at Mycroft’s fussing.

 

Mycroft swats right back. “You’re covered in blood, Gregory. Your throat…”

 

“Is fine.” It’s not often Mycroft doesn’t finish a sentence. Greg knows he’s worried about him. “I’ve had worse shaving.” He tries to joke but it’s probably true. He didn’t really feel more than a few nicks. He grabs Mycroft’s hands in both of his and pulls them to his chest. “Hey, Batman. I’m fine.” Greg makes sure that Mycroft can see the truth in his eyes and gives a smile as Mycroft deflates.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Mycroft presses a kiss to Greg’s brow and then helps him to stand, making sure that he can walk with that bashed knee. “At least let me take care of you.” He requests in a soft, quiet plea. He really was worried.

 

“‘Course you can.” Greg pulls him into a quick kiss and then pokes Mycroft to lead the way. “Now take me home, Batman.”

 

“Batman?”

 

“Shut up. You are. Leaving the bad guys tied up in the dead of night for the authorities to find and wonder who did it. Surprised you didn’t leave a note: ‘from your friendly neighbourhood minor government official’.” 

 

They both laugh.

 

“I do believe you’re getting your superheroes mixed up. Perhaps a trip to A&E to check for concussion?” Mycroft tries again but he knows it’s fruitless.

 

“M’fine.”

 

“Okay.” Mycroft knows not to push it and he knows after a thorough looking over that Greg won’t die or become more seriously hurt by allowing Mycroft to look after him rather than a doctor. He starts the walk to his car with a joke. “Does that make you Robin?”

 

“I prefer Alfred, actually.”

 

“Catering to my every need?”

 

“Get stuffed.”

 

“Hmm, definitely Alfred.”


End file.
